Fate Makes Itself Known
by SolitaryPeak
Summary: Above all else, men desire power. This Sauron knew when crafting the rings of power. But how did Khamul, a Lord of Rhun, fall into the Dark Lord's hands? What made him follow the Witch King, Ungossë, into his service? No Copyright infringement intended, based on JRR Tolkien's work.
1. To be Lonely and to Suffer

He knew.

He was under no illusion. He _knew_ how his people felt about him. Although he was frequently taken ill with high fevers, he was a stern ruler. He enforced the law at all costs with no exception. No one was above the law- and no one would escape the consequences of disregarding them. His reputation was infamous, and he knew he was anything but popular. But they were organized and strong in their own right, thanks to him and his brother.

But as he lay on the ground, watching the carrion chase one another across the grey cold, he knew no one would look for him. There would be no search party for him. His servants knew he was due in- where _was_ he going? He could not remember. Well, he was due at his destination days before, but they would be silently delighted. Thinking perhaps maybe he was dead, and revel in their forbidden treachery.

But he was nearly dead, so he figured it was not treason if they were right. He groaned and pulled himself into a sitting position the best he could, and looked at his leg. It was swollen and an angry crimson. He'd hit his calf on a rock when his horse reared, and was unable to calm it before it ran off without him. Now he was left with a debilitating wound that just wouldn't stop bleeding, and no food or water.

He'd gotten one of his headaches an hour before the beast had damned him, and he could feel a fever coming. This one was creeping up on him slowly, calmly. Taking its time before it rendered him weak beyond independence and half mad with feverish hallucinations. He poked around the angry wound, and blood oozed from it with white pus. He groaned. He would be wolves' play in a few hours. There was no possible way he could haul himself into a tree like the previous night. He would have to sleep on the ground.

He shivered. The only warm part of him was flesh surrounding his infected gash. His cloak was torn, and he was still wet from wading through the river that morning. He was partially surprised his guards did not come looking for him when he did not return. He'd gone to look ahead, anxious to be gone from the forest. But now it would be his death. Ironic.

He dragged himself to his feet, and searing pain tore through his calf and thigh, pulsing and stinging with agony. He gasped quietly, and quickly lifted his leg. He had to get off the ground. There were too many predators in these woods. He picked up a large stick with shaking hands, and leaned on it as he limped through the forest. Somewhere, anywhere he could even slightly stand a chance of defending himself. That was what he wanted- and his hoped waned with the setting sun.

As he swayed and fell, he thought of his kingdom. He'd never thought of never seeing it again. He never thought of dying in a strange land, alone.

He heard footsteps, and leapt to his feet, only to fall to the earth again. What if it was an elf? He hated the elves of his own land, why should they be any more agreeable in this land? A white horse rode toward him, and a tall figure with linen over his face stopped before him. He had long hair of a near white color, and wore a long cloak and hood of black velvet. He got off of his horse and knelt before him.

"Who are you, Easterling? And why are you so far from Rhun?"

"I am Khamul, a great King and Lord in my land and you shall respect me as such. Who are you? Hooded rider?"

The man pulled the cloth from his face and laughed, his light eyes full of dark laughter. "You are rude, for a man in grave need of assistance. I am Ungossë, a King and Lord in my land, and you also shall respect me as such."

* * *

Thanks for reading! _Please_ review. I'm trying to be as canon as possible, but Sauron's process of collecting the Nazgul is very vague so bare with me. But if you do pick up inaccuracies feel free to tell me. This won't be as long as my other stories. I'll update as soon as I can, but I am in college so I'll do my best.


	2. To Trust a Stranger in a Strange Land

Khamul slept. He slept long and deep, the kind of sleep where one does not realize he is sleeping. His sleep was dreamless- but was plagued by pain and fever. When he finally woke, he was confused, and did not realize time had passed since his meeting of- what was his name? He blinked and squinted, looking for the stranger. He felt incredibly weak and moving his head seemed impossible. He was wrapped in furs and fine fabrics, and there was a small fire and a place of blankets and furs where the stranger had lain. The horse whinnied behind him, and he tried to sit up with no luck. His strength was spent. He could feel his leg, and the pulling of the stitches in it, so at least he knew he still had it.

He heard footsteps, and looked over to the stranger as he walked across the little camp and sat down on the ground. He looked over to Khamul and looked surprised when he saw him awake. "So you are finally awake," he said.

"Was I asleep long?" Khamul asked hoarsely.

"Three days. I assumed you were just about dead." His tone was matter-of-fact. Disinterested.

Khamul coughed, "what did you say your name was again?"

"Ungossë." He had a very deep voice. He rose, and Khamul noted the grace in his stance. His movements were effortless, and his lean, willowy form came to kneel next to him. He pulled his waterskin from his side and Khamul nodded. Ungosse lifted his head with his hand and helped him drink. Khamul met his eyes. They were very light, so light he almost couldn't tell they were blue. His white-blonde hair was long and brushed his cheek. He stopped and felt his forehead. "I no longer think you're going to die," he said gruffly.

"What a relief," Khamul said sarcastically.

Ungosse uncovered him and Khamul shivered. He ignored it and turned his leg. "What did you do?"

"I fell off of my horse. It ran off without me."

"I cannot imagine why. Were you ill before you fell? You had quite a fever."

"Infection, probably." Khámul nearly whispered. He would not tell a stranger of his weaknesses. Ungossë stared at him a moment before he replaced the furs over him and returned to his side of the fire. He looked a little tired.

"Are you hungry?" Ungosse asked him after a moment or two of silence.

"No, thank you," Khamul said. Ungosse nodded and stared into the fire. The flames danced in his light eyes, and his features were angular and cruel in the shadows. Khamul slowly fell asleep as he watched him.

This time, his sleep was not merciful. He tossed and turned, nightmares of Ungosse violently killing and brutalizing him with blood on his face haunted him. He was towering above him, his eyes wild and his angled face twisted with malice and bloodlust. He held a longsword that was dripping blood over his head, and in his nightmare, Khamul was frozen in place.

When he woke, it was morning again, and Khamul was anything but rested. He felt betrayed, somehow, by Ungosse, even though he had not done anything to him here in the real world. He looked around for him, and Ungossë was brushing his horse.

"Are you hungry yet?" He asked without turning around.

Khamûl flinched, "a bit." Ungossë walked over to the fire, his eyes distant. He scooped some kind of soup into a bowl, and walked over to him. He knelt down facing him. He offered him a spoonful of soup, and Khamul was hesitant.

"Why would I poison you after exerting my time and energy to save you? eat." Khamul sighed and complied. It wasn't as awful as he had figured. He ate half the bowl slowly, and once he was finished Ungosse rose and got himself a bowl. He returned to Khamul's side with his soup. "You Easterlings do not each much."

Khamûl rolled his eyes. "No, we do not fatten ourselves like your men of the west."

Ungossë laughed, his eyes cruel. "Yes, that is what we do." They continued this dance for a few more days. Khamul would sleep through most days, and would wake and eat whatever Ungosse had for them. Slowly he grew strong and slept less, and was able to sit up and feed himself after a time.

It was not long before Ungossë returned from a hunt and Khamûl was up. He was leaning against a tree, and said, "where is my sword?" Without turning.

"I have it." He turned to look at Ungossë. His sword was in fact at Ungosse's side.

"Why did you take my sword? Are you a thief?"

Ungosse smirked. "I am a king of men, I am far from a thief."

"Where is your kingdom?" Khamul asked incredulously.

"I will not tell you. It does not matter now anyway." Khamûl was sore and favored his leg as he turned. "Where is it that you were intending to go?"

"I do not recall, to be honest," Khamul admitted.

"Come with me, I can get you a horse and safe passage back to Rhûn."

Khamûl considered. "How do I know you will not betray me?"

"You do not, but now that you are well I am leaving with or without you." Khamûl nodded and Ungossë pulled his cloak and coat on. "Get on the horse, we will go to Annatar."

* * *

Thanks for reading, please review/subscribe!


	3. Guard your Hand

Khamul regret getting on the horse not ten minutes later.

The pain in his leg was getting worse and worse with each passing moment, and to this stranger, he would not complain. He had been dependent on the arrogant man enough.

"How far is this Annatar?"

"Two days. We are not far."

Khamul rode, and Ungosse pulled the horse, silence between them. It was terribly cold, and his leg began to bleed again by midday. He was determined to not admit defeat to this man, but the pain pulsed through his leg, making his head pound in rhythm.

"Ungosse," Khamul said sharply, his hand clamped over his wound.

"What is it?" He stopped the horse and turned. Khamul's eyes were clamped shut in agony, blood seeping through his fingers.

"The pain," he gasped and bit the inside of his cheek. Now that he'd admitted it, his steeled resolve crumbled.

Ungosse's arms were around his waist a moment later, pulling him from the horse. "Why did you not say something sooner?" he scolded quietly, dragging him to lay down under a tree. He stuffed a rolled up cloak under his head and covered him with another.

"Please," Khamul gasped, holding his leg. His eyes were squeezed shut, his breath in ragged gasps.

Ungosse poured herbs into his water skin and shook it, offering it to Khamul. "Come, drink. It will help."

Khamul drank eagerly, the herbs numbing his lips as he drank. It soon numbed his pain and his mind, and he fell swiftly to sleep.

* * *

When he woke it was early morning, and the wound at his side stabbed and throbbed. The sun shined in his face, and he pawed at a scarf wrapped around his nose and mouth. He groaned and opened his eyes. Snow. Ungosse was tending the fire and looked over to him. He approached and touched his forehead, unwrapping his face. "It was very cold last night, I did not wish for you to freeze," He explained.

Khamul nodded, "thank you."

"You must tell me what is wrong with you," Ungosse commanded, his pupils dilated. "I cannot help you if you are lying to me."

"I do not lie," Khamul strained. "I am dying. I have an illness no healer can cure, and my days are numbered. This wound shortens them further, it would seem."

"Why did you not tell me sooner that you needed rest? You are not my prisoner. Pride will quicken your death even further."

Khamul reddened, and Ungosse rose and returned to the fire.

* * *

Khamul slept again and woke on a stretcher. He was covered in furs and blankets, and Ungosse was saddling his horse. He was disoriented, and Ungosse looked over at him.

"Rest, we leave for Lord Annatar's home. He will be able to help you."

Khamul nodded and did not protest or question. He was weak and felt his mortality in his hands. Death was swiftly descending on him. He did not care about where he went, he simply did not want to be alone to die.

They rode several hours through the forest, and then through fields of wheat and barley. He had no idea where he was and was in and out of consciousness. Each time he woke their surroundings were different.

Khamul was not sure how long it had been since he had left Rhun, but he was now outside a dark tower, surrounded by trees. Ungosse lifted him into his arms, his light hair brushing his face.

"I will walk," Khamul protested, and Ungosse set him down. Pain spiked through his legs and his head spun, but he stayed on his feet. "Introduce me to this Annatar."

Ungosse smiled, and the doors of the tower swung open. A tall, slender elf approached them, and Khamul's mouth fell open. His white hair was straight, and shone like freshly fallen snow, complimenting his alabaster complexion. His eyes were orange, like a fire that licked at the winter sky. He put out his ringed hand, and Khamul took it weakly. It was freezing, and the man smiled cruelly.

"It is a pleasure," he said in a heavy accent, "I am Annatar."

* * *

Thanks for reading! Please review. Sorry for the shortness of the chapter and for the length of time it took me to post this. I will be updating faster in the future.


End file.
